Atonement Read online

  Night was not as long here. Nothing was safe. But Shon still needed to run. It was always day inside. There was always light. Shon had found stairways. They led to closed doors. He had found small rooms. One of those rooms was filled with dusty boxes and books. It had a window. Shon had climbed the boxes to look out the window. Outside there was room to run. He saw it through the window.

  He waited for night to come again.

  The window had been easy to open. He was almost too big to slip through it. But he had.

  Shon breathed the cool air of night. For the first time in a long time, he felt free again.

  He kept to the shadows at first. He ran between them. When no one came to call him back, he ran farther. He found the end of the building. The high fence was so far away. He could run to it and back in no time.

  He did.

  He did it again.

  He laughed in delight.

  No one came to call him back.

  The third time he reached the fence, he stopped to catch his breath. A shadow fell over him.

  “Hello, there,” a voice said.

  It was not his mother’s voice.

  Shon turned and looked up. A tall man stood there. His eyes were silver, like the moon. Shon started to run, but the eyes held him.

  “And who might you be?” the voice asked.

  The man stepped closer to the fence, and suddenly Shon saw his face. He didn’t like it. It reminded him of his stuffed serpent.

  “Don’t be afraid,” the voice said.

  Shon was.

  Shon ran. He scurried back inside the window and slammed it shut.

  He didn’t tell his mother what he’d done or about the man with the voice.

  17

  VESTA

  Thulan turned out to be one of the more reasonable and discerning aliens Captain Regina Farkas had ever met. It had aided matters considerably that Farkas had presented him with the answers to questions that had plagued him and many among the Voth leadership for months. As first minister, there was little that fell outside Odala’s power to command. Although she had made a compelling case for countering the objectives of the disruptive Federation, joining the Kinara had been a bridge too far for most of her subordinates. A thorough forensic analysis that had been completed after the Scion had left to join the Kinara had revealed faint, telltale transporter signals between Odala’s private chambers and a Voth scout vessel. Odala’s body had never been recovered, but the signal’s artifacts pointed to its final resting place in deep space.

  After accepting Farkas’s intelligence gratefully, Thulan had returned the favor, offering Farkas the one thing she had requested, beyond the lives of her crew and the continuing existence of her ship. As the captain had suspected, there was a Kinara recon point several light-years from the Ark Planet, closer to the Gateway but still within the space the protectors cloaked. Thulan had given her the coordinates and a warning. The Turei and Vaadwaur were both species of limited resources and imagination. He doubted they would believe Farkas’s intelligence. He also assured Farkas that this small, mutually beneficial contact changed nothing between their peoples. The Vesta’s captain was willing to live with that, as long as the unprovoked attacks on the Federation communications relays ended. Thulan agreed. Farkas couldn’t help suggesting that if the Voth ever changed their minds, they use those comm relays to signal the fleet. Thulan did not believe that day would ever come.

  The Vival had departed, continuing their search for the Scion, and Vesta set course for what remained of the Kinara’s fleet.

  Long-range sensors soon painted a cheerier picture than Farkas had dared hope would be found.

  “Six vessels, two Vaadwaur, four Turei, all holding position, bearing three-one-one mark two-four,” Jepel reported. “They are all among the smallest of these species’ vessels.”

  “Helm, approach at full impulse. Let’s give them a nice, long look at us,” Farkas ordered. “As soon as we’re in range, Jepel, go ahead and send out a friendship message and a request to share our data with them.”

  A few minutes later, the small fleet appeared to scatter. It was soon clear, however, that they were moving into attack formation.

  “Are we really going to have to do this the hard way?” Farkas sighed.

  “Going forward, may I suggest that designation be restricted only to operations that include arming our self-destruct mechanism while inside an alien vessel?” Commander Roach asked.

  Farkas laughed in genuine surprise. “Mister Roach, you just made a joke while on duty.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Only took you a year.”

  “I used to be such a quick study,” Roach said with feigned chagrin.

  “The lead Turei vessel has armed its weapons, Captain,” Kar reported from tactical.

  “Sienna, I want them disarmed, not destroyed.”

  “Understood, Captain.”

  A few minutes later, two of the Turei vessels had lost the use of their shields and weapons and two had suffered sufficient damage to break off their attacks. The Vaadwaur ships were considerably smaller and had held back, though they had both suffered minor damage from Kar’s first surgical strike.

  Throughout the brief conflict, Farkas had continued to transmit messages on all frequencies indicating that she had simply come to share information that was vital to them.

  Finally, the pale gray-blue face of a Turei officer who introduced himself as Frim appeared on Vesta’s main viewscreen.

  “Mister Frim,” Farkas greeted him. “I am Captain Regina Farkas of—”

  “We know who you are,” Frim said.

  “The intelligence I’ve brought is for your edification, as well as that of your Vaadwaur allies. I’d like to bring one of them into this conversation as well.”

  Frim shook his head in disgust. “Hail them, if you like. Our communications systems have suffered some damage recently.”

  Jepel did so, and in response, the cool and appraising face of Vaadwaur Section Leader Tiqe joined Frim’s. Tiqe was clearly feeling a little superior. Behind him, his small ship appeared to be fully operational while Frim’s bridge was a darkened mass of belching smoke and debris.

  “Mister Tiqe, thank you for joining us.”

  “The Vaadwaur learned long ago to respect the tactical capabilities of your Federation,” Tiqe said placidly.

  “I apologize for damaging your ships, but you left me no choice.”

  “What terms do you demand for our surrender?” Frim asked.

  “A few minutes of your time,” Farkas replied congenially. She then presented both of them with the same data she had provided to Thulan about Lsia, The Eight, and the battle at the Gateway. While both were clearly interested in what she had to say, Frim did not appear ready to accept her words at face value.

  “Why should we believe this report?” Frim demanded.

  “Because we are both still alive to hear it,” Tiqe replied for Farkas. You ignorant buffoon, was clearly implied by Tiqe’s tone.

  “You don’t have to take my word for it,” Farkas said. “I am now transmitting to you our ship’s logs of the battle at the Gateway, as well as written reports detailing our encounters with the Indign and the Seriareen. In addition, I am sending our most recent intelligence regarding the Borg. Once you’ve had a chance to review it, I hope you will better understand the Federation’s presence in the Delta Quadrant, as well as our intended goals. We do not wish to instigate hostilities with any local species or claim any territory. We have come here to explore and when we can, to clear up any misunderstandings that arose during the Starship Voyager’s first journey through your space.”

  “More Federation lies,” Frim said.

  “To what end?” Farkas asked. “I sincerely hope you will accept what I’ve given you in the spirit in which it is intended. Even if you don’t, you should be aware that your alliance with the Kinara is over. The Skeen, Karlon, Muk, and Emleath vessels that joined yours in attacking the Gateway were
destroyed or retreated, leaving the Devore, Voth, Turei, and Vaadwaur to the mercy of the Confederacy. A Devore and Voth ship both survived the battle at the Gateway, and I’m assuming they had the location of this recon point but neither came here to provide you with this critical intelligence. They are busy tending to their own. You should do the same. Should we meet again, I expect that you will remember this act of goodwill on our part.”

  “The Vaadwaur will, Captain,” Tiqe assured her.

  Seconds later, his ship rattled around him and he looked away from the viewscreen in alarm.

  “What the—?” Farkas began.

  “Two of the Turei vessels have opened fire on their Vaadwaur allies,” Kar reported.

  “Are you serious?” Farkas asked as the channel between all three vessels was cut.

  “The Vaadwaur ships are returning fire,” Kar added.

  “Mister Hoch, fall back. As soon as we’re clear, set course for New Talax and engage our slipstream drive.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Hoch said.

  Farkas turned to Roach. “Did you see that coming?”

  Roach thought for a moment. “I’m surprised their alliance lasted this long,” he observed.

  “Fair point,” Farkas agreed.

  DEMETER

  “Overseer Bralt, we are so relieved that you have returned,” EC Irste said.

  “Thank you,” Bralt said, smiling benevolently.

  Commander O’Donnell had hailed the Fourth Jroone the moment Demeter was in range. They had waited too long for news of their overseer of agriculture. In a few minutes, they would be in transporter range, Bralt would return to the CIF vessel, and O’Donnell would set course for the last known coordinates of the rest of the fleet, just outside the Gateway.

  “Shall I dispatch a protector for you?” Irste asked.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Bralt replied. “Commander O’Donnell and his crew have provided us with a great deal of intelligence on the capabilities of our protectors. I intend to test some of the theories immediately. You will remain in orbit of Vitrum, and as soon as we join you our tests will commence.”

  “I beg your pardon, Overseer,” O’Donnell interrupted, “but I cannot join in those efforts. I have been ordered to take my ship to the fleet rendezvous. I will bring this request to the admiral’s attention, and with her permission, will return as soon as I can.”

  Bralt frowned. “I understand, Commander,” he began. “I did not intend for your ship to make contact with the protectors for us. The Jroone can do that. But I was hoping you would observe our efforts and offer any guidance you feel would be appropriate.”

  No. The only possible response was on the tip of O’Donnell’s tongue. It hung there, ready to fall from his lips.

  “Commander,” Fife interjected. “A few more hours at this point couldn’t do much harm, could it? Vesta is aware of our intended destination, and we could use the CIF’s communications system to send word of a brief delay to the fleet. Given what this might do to further relations with the Confederacy, I can’t imagine that the admiral would disapprove.”

  O’Donnell turned to Fife’s expectant face. He knew what the young officer was thinking. On Vitrum, hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children were living in abject poverty. That could change in a matter of weeks. Every minute they delayed was one more minute of needless suffering.

  How dare you put the face of a hungry child in front of me and order me not to feed him?

  Fife had hurled this insult at O’Donnell the first day he’d visited Vitrum’s surface. It had wounded O’Donnell. Ordering Fife to return to Demeter immediately had been one of the hardest things the commander had done in a long time. But it had cleared the way for their breakthrough with Overseer Bralt at the Ark Planet.

  Alana, O’Donnell thought.

  As expected, she did not answer.

  A spasm of fresh pain shot through O’Donnell’s heart.

  I don’t need her to answer.

  She hadn’t abandoned him. She would never do that. He had lived too long apart from others. His self-imposed isolation had been intentional. Alone, he had been free to create a world inside his mind where she had never died. No, where the consequences of her death had been avoided.

  That isolation had come to an end when he had assumed command of Demeter. Forced into the land of the living, he had accidentally and unintentionally, little by little, opened himself up to the counsel of others. They had not replaced her. No one would ever do that. They had simply helped make possible a transition that should have happened years ago.

  O’Donnell nodded to Fife. “Three hours.”

  Fife nodded. “Would you care to return to your quarters? I will advise you when the Jroone is ready to begin.

  O’Donnell shook his head and settled back into the command chair. “No.”

  “Are you all right, sir?” Fife asked gently.

  “Yes, Atlee. I am.”

  VOYAGER

  “What am I looking at?” Admiral Janeway asked as she studied the holographic display suspended before her eyes in the center of the briefing room’s conference table.

  Captain Chakotay, Counselor Cambridge, and Lieutenants Kim, Conlon, and Barclay were all giving the fleet chief engineer their full attention. The Doctor glanced at the display, recognized nothing significant, and continued to record Commander Torres’s explanation for future reference, while focusing the majority of his attention on a different concern.

  He had replayed the two memories that had emerged after his meditation session several hundred times in the last few hours.

  The first memory was troubling in that he had obviously been experiencing a level of distress far beyond any he could imagine even should he learn that Seven had actually died. He could not fathom reaching the level of despair he had witnessed for any reason. The Doctor had believed his creator’s modifications were limited. Now he was skeptical of that assessment. Zimmerman might have made the Doctor more “human.”

  Not that this was something he had particularly desired.

  But Zimmerman had also made him less than he had once been.

  “This display shows the virus’s progress through our systems over the course of several months,” Torres pointed out.

  “We have no idea how long it waited in the shuttle’s bioneural gel packs before it was finally released into Voyager’s systems,” Kim noted.

  “We’ll never know for sure,” Conlon added.

  “It learned as it went. Its actions suggest intelligence, but since we can’t find any trace of it now, we can’t confirm whether or not it was organic, artificial, or a hybrid,” Torres continued.

  “It touched every major system on the ship,” Janeway said, equally awestruck and disconcerted.

  “But it seemed to take particular interest in our holographic ones?” Cambridge asked.

  “We think that’s where it overreached,” Torres replied, nodding. “The holodecks were the last system it targeted. They aren’t accessible through our primary processors, but there was a weakness in our security protocols that it managed to exploit.”

  “What weakness?” Janeway demanded.

  “It’s my fault, Admiral,” Kim admitted. “The last time we lost control of the holodecks, several crew members were almost killed. I installed a personal code to act as a fail-safe so I would never be denied access again. Apparently even the engineers that did Voyager’s refit prior to the fleet’s launch missed it.”

  Janeway sighed as Chakotay said, “I can see your reasoning, Lieutenant, but in hindsight . . .”

  “I understand, sir,” Kim said quickly. “Lesson learned.”

  Torres continued, “Once it had gained access and collected as much data as it required, it attempted to infiltrate the Doctor’s program, causing his cascade failure.”

  “That explains a great deal,” Barclay said. “It’s a relief, isn’t it, Doctor?”

  At the sound of his name, the Doctor turned automatically to Barclay, but
with no idea what an appropriate response might be. He decided to go with, “It is,” and when Reg smiled, he returned to his musings.

  The second memory was more viscerally frightening than the first. It was also different in one major respect. Whereas in the first memory the Doctor was able to watch himself from outside his program, he experienced the second without detachment. An alien he had never seen commanded him to “release him” and, without hesitation, the Doctor killed him with a sword. His ethical subroutines would not allow him to take a life except in the act of self-defense. But this was not self-defense. It was more like following an order. But the Doctor was not programmed to accept orders from anyone outside his current chain of command, and even then, as he had recently learned, he could resist orders if he found them ethically troubling.

  This was simply not something the Doctor would or could imagine himself doing. So why did he remember doing it so vividly?

  When Barclay had listed the various subroutines that had displayed minor corruptions, his ethical subroutines had been among them. Could that corruption account for his actions? Could this be part of a lost memory, or was his program beginning to unravel in a new and unexpected way?

  The Doctor understood that if one could question their sanity, they could not be considered to have lost it. Part of him wished to confide in Reg or even Cambridge. But to do so was more terrifying than the memories. What if this was something they could not fix?

  The Doctor had rarely had cause to contemplate his mortality. He found the process paralyzing.

  “We think the complexity of the Doctor’s program was simply too much for it to absorb,” Kim continued. “It then attacked several other less-advanced holograms, but apart from corrupting their programming, it didn’t permanently damage them.”

  “Where did it go next?” Chakotay asked.

  “Once I initiated full diagnostics of the holographic system, it seemed to have disappeared,” Conlon said. “But it could have been designed to destroy itself once its work was complete or if it was in danger of detection.”

  “What work?” Janeway asked.

  The display shifted to a dense string of programming code. “We found this file buried in our backup systems,” Torres said. “If activated, it would essentially slave all of our systems to a single terminal on the bridge and allow the individual who enters the appropriate authentication code to take control of the ship: navigation, communication, weapons, you name it. It’s voice-activated, so all it needs is the proper code word, and we would all have been at the mercy of the person who activated the program.”